


I'm Fine in the Fire

by astudyinlestrade



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinlestrade/pseuds/astudyinlestrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin Crieff has a problem, and his girlfriend is trying her hardest to help. What if Martin himself doesn't want to do anything about it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd or Brit-picked. I apologize for any errors. As much as I would love to, I don't own Martin. He belongs to the brilliant John Finnemore.

She steps into the flat and closes the door behind her, completely exhausted after a long day's work at the lab.

"I'm home!"

No response.

"Martin? Honey, I'm home!"

Silence. How strange, since he usually rushes to greet her, shower her with kisses, and pamper her in every way possible. This time, absolutely nothing.

Right. He must be hiding. He's always so full of surprises! She climbs up the stairs to check.

"Martin! I'm here! Where are you? You owe me a hug, remember?"

Silence.

Tiptoeing through the hallway, listening for even the slightest sound, a breath, a whisper, anything, she cranes her neck around a doorframe and peeks into the bedroom.

The bed is perfectly made, not a single wrinkle, bump, or fiber protruding from its assigned place. Typical Martin.

She continues down the hallway. She remembers that Martin is exceptional at hiding himself; he had often done so when he attempted to pass the flight test. He'd hide in the cupboard, under his bed, in the attic, wherever he could to prevent his parents from asking him how he did and shouting at him for wasting money in futile pursuits.

She steps into the bathroom, flicks the light switch, and finds herself speechless for a full three seconds.

The first thing she sees is the very man she was looking for, lying on the bathroom floor, head and neck rolled to one side and propped up by the toilet. She runs over, takes his right hand, pries the blade from between his fingers, and places two fingers on his wrist. She feels a slow, steady pulse. Definitely unconscious. She then picks up his bloodied left wrist and notes three distinct sources from which blood was flowing down his lower arm.

With shaky hands, she fumbles her pocket for her cell phone and dials the three magic digits.

After speaking to the emergency response personnel, she looks down at her boyfriend's strikingly handsome face, only wondering what could have possibly influenced his actions this time. She runs her fingers through Martin's ginger locks.

"Martin…not again..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a month, and things don't seem to be getting much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd or Brit-picked. I apologize for any errors. As much as I would love to, I don't own Martin. He belongs to the brilliant John Finnemore.

~Four weeks later~

The therapist flips ahead a few pages in her notebook and jots down a sentence or two. "I appreciate that you've been coming here for so long after the incident. I think it shows that you really want to make progress."

"Yes, I really do."

"You haven't been having those dreams again?"

"Nope."

"Your eating habits have gone back to normal, right?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. The only thing that worries me is that your boyfriend has not stepped into my office even once this past month."

Silence.

"Why is this so? One would think he's the one who needs the help, not you."

"Yes, I know. I suggested counseling, and he turned down the offer. Twenty-three times."

"Twenty-three? Hm…I'll be seeing the both of you next week, same time." She abruptly closes her book and leaves the room.

She remains seated on the sofa for seven more minutes before getting up, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms, and slowly walking out of the building.

She opens the door to their flat and calls out, "Honey, I'm home!" She does that every day now, more as a precautionary measure than as an act of affection.

A tall, lanky figure comes striding toward her from the kitchen. "Hey, Claire, darling! Come here!" He pulls her into him, wrapping his warm arms around her waist. He places a peck on her cheek. He pulls away from her, and wrinkles his brows as he observes her.

"Something wrong?"

"Huh? Oh, no, nothing's wrong."

"No, something is wrong. Is it something I did? What did I do? I-I can fix it, I promise, I'll do anyth-"

"No, Martin, no-nothing is wrong. Just…"

"Just what?"

"Just Dr. Mirello. She wants to see us next week. Same time." Claire pushes her way past Martin and heads up the stairs.

"Oh! I see…Dr. Mirell-wait. Claire. Claire! She wants to see…us? Why? Damn, I knew something was wrong, I just knew it!"

Claire stops halfway up the stairs and scrunches her eyes shut. Shit. He noticed the "us" she tried to hide. She turns around to face him. "Y-Yes. Us. Both of us. She was surprised that she hasn't seen you in her office yet, so I've got no choice but to take you to her next week. Please try to come. For me?"

He looks at her, eyes narrowed, fists clenched, back stiff. "F-Fine. For you, I'll go. But just this once." He turns his head away, as if he can't stand the sight of his girlfriend anymore. He mutters under his breath, "I hate it when you decide things for me."

With a scoff, he throws on his scarf and heads out the door, leaving her alone in the flat.


End file.
